


Leave No Man Behind

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March EXTRAS [19]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Gen, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the missions don't go as smoothly as they should, especially under someone else's command.  Lesson learned, Geraint knew.  But he'd be damned if he'd leave anyone behind to save his own arse -- especially when that someone was Galahad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave No Man Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the Prompt Request #2 Round for Loaded March Extras:
> 
> Prompted by nemo_nunca (LJ)  
>  _This is only part of the original prompt. Because there were so many interesting prompts in it, I decided to split them up. The specific prompt this Extra belongs to is:_  
>  For a group of people as close as they were, who helped each other through every breakdown and every fear, who would always have someone by the bedside if they were stuck in a MASH unit, who would fireman carry anybody else and hump them over however many klicks there were until they were safe, who knew every bloody nasty secret about each other... because brave manly men genuinely caring about each other just pushes all the buttons!
> 
> * * *

The downside of not having a permanent communications officer on the team was that the team was broken up and sent out with other squads more frequently than usual. The upside of not having a permanent communications officer on the team was that different members went on loan to other teams, split up according to their specialties and sent where they would have a chance to show everyone else how it was supposed to be done.

Gwaine should be on this particular mission, but he'd been roped into an incursion in one of the disputed cities over his objections a week ago, so it was down to Geraint and Galahad. It wasn't the first time that they were sent out without Gwaine when some other team needed extra snipers, and odds were that it wouldn't be the last. And, besides, when something looked easy enough on paper --

Geraint hefted Galahad's weight a little, settling it more comfortably on his shoulders. Eight kilometers to go before they were in a zone even remotely safe for airborne extraction. _Only_ eight kilometres, he told himself, ignoring the aches in his back and legs. Carrying another twenty stone of weight -- Galahad and pack and equipment combined -- had made his muscles burn after a few klicks, but they were numb now. Geraint was exhausted, and he didn't know how far behind them the enemy was. He had to keep going.

\-- didn't necessarily mean that the mission would go off without a hitch. Excalibur was _spoiled_ , that's what they were. Having Arthur run the show might be a pain -- the extra PT, the late night planning, the repeated scenario training until they had a manoeuver down pat -- but everyone stopped complaining after they'd spent a few weeks under another officer reminding them how good they had it in comparison. Unlike the numpties out there, running around with half-baked plans, it wasn't often, if it ever happened, that one of Arthur's mission didn't go off without a hitch.

Geraint had forgotten that, going in. Not everyone was Captain Arthur Pendragon. Not every team was Excalibur.

Galahad groaned, long and low, in Geraint's ear. Geraint paused, waiting to see if Galahad was awake, but Galahad didn't twitch. If anything, the breath blowing against Geraint's cheek had grown shallow, almost stuttering.

Geraint kept moving. Only seven and a half more kilometres to go. The way he figured it, he'd make it another two and a half before the sun set. He would have to stop, then. The terrain was too rough, too rocky, too unfamiliar. Normally that wouldn't stop him, but the full moon would rise and there wasn't much by way of cover -- in the sky or on the land. Geraint wasn't keen on casting a long shadow at night that would point an arrow at his head.

Seven and a quarter kilometres left.

He thought he heard shouts behind him. He didn't look back. He pushed himself to move faster.

 

* * *

 

Galahad woke up with his usual startle reflex -- he grabbed for his gun. He sputtered weakly when Geraint smacked him on the face a few more times for good measure and brought the canteen to his lips.

"Drink this."

"Where are we?" Galahad asked instead.

"Drink this," Geraint said, shoving the lip to Galahad's mouth and holding onto the canteen, guiding it carefully to reduce spillage. The mission hadn't been meant to go this long, and Geraint already had to take a detour that had turned the seven kilometres to safe air extraction into twelve. He had to ration their water and what little food they had until they reached a green zone.

Galahad would get most of the rations, of course. If he became any weaker from blood loss, Geraint didn't know what he'd do. Make a stand, most likely. He wasn't interested in being a prisoner -- once had been enough, and he had the T-shirt to prove it. Galahad wouldn't survive, the rebels wouldn't help him, and, oh, fuck it.

It was too early in the day to think about taking extremes. 

At least they had a compatible blood type. Geraint could do a field blood transfusion if necessary. Finding the tubing might be something of a problem, but he'd sort it out.

Galahad pushed the canteen away when he'd had enough. "Where are we?"

"Middle of God's backend, that's where," Geraint said. "Keep your voice down. We're in a gully. The acoustics are worse than at the Philharmonic. They'll hear your ugly croak for leagues."

"Who's after us this time?"

Geraint flinched. He slapped Galahad's cheek again when Galahad's eyes started to droop. "Stay with me, mate. I need you awake for this. I'm going to check the wound, see how bad it is, yeah? And you tell me if you need to bite down on anything --"

"Morphine," Galahad wheezed.

Geraint shook his head, focusing his attention on where the material of Galahad's trousers had been torn up. He'd wrapped the wound up in the neutral camouflage scarves that his temporary team had insisted they wear -- apparently red clashed with their uniforms or something -- but both his and Galahad's were already soaked through.

"Even if I'd brought along a fieldkit, I wouldn't give it to you. You're running on fumes, mate. Heart rate's low and you sound like a phone line operator. You know what that means."

"That I sound sexy and it's a damn shame I'm not turned on because you are?" Galahad said. His grin was fleeting, there and gone in an eyeblink. "How far behind us are they?"

"Two klicks, maybe less," Geraint said. He couldn't tell. He knew he'd lost them for a while when he took the detour, and trying to navigate the gullies had slowed them down as much as it had put a monkey wrench in Geraint's own plans to get ahead. 

"You should --"

"Shut it."

"G, I'm slowing you down --"

"Shut it, I said. Save your breath. Get some rest." Geraint stood up abruptly, ignoring Galahad's quiet protests, and pretended to inspect both their equipment until Galahad finally stopped talking. He waited a little longer -- until Galahad looked to have dozed off -- before moving to lay down beside him, sharing body warmth against the cold desert night.

"Should stick me somewhere they won't find me and bring back reinforcements," Galahad mumbled.

" _Shut it_ , you numpty." Geraint elbowed Galahad half-heartedly, and listened while Galahad's breathing evened out.

 

* * *

 

He broke radio silence for the first time since he called in for an air-evac the day before, and was nearly knocked onto his arse with the relief at hearing Arthur's _I'm-concerned-but-I'm-handling-things_ voice over the comms.

"The chopper will be there the _fucking second_ that you cross into the green zone," Arthur said. Geraint knew that the hostility in Arthur's voice was directed to someone -- most likely _everyone_ \-- in the command tent, but he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine. Arthur was fearsome when he was pissed, turning into an even bigger arse than Geraint had thought possible. The team had never been on the receiving end of Arthur's temper, not like this, but it was chilling to hear or to see, anyway.

"Two klicks, by my bearings," Geraint said. He could see the tree that he was using as a reference point in the distance -- one kilometre to get there, and another K to get to the mountains just beyond that. It would be a hard haul. His legs were still wobbly from the last night's march, but all the PT he'd done was paying off. He'd be able to do it. It was mind over matter. "Would appreciate some cover fire, if the bird happens to be flying over my location."

The last five hundred metres was open brush; if the enemy was still on their tail, they wouldn't need to catch up. A lucky shot or a good sniper, and Geraint and Galahad were dead.

Geraint signed off and adjusted his equipment. He patted Galahad's face until the man stirred; his eyes blinked groggily and he was more pale than Geraint liked.

"You still with me, mate?"

"You won't be able to get rid of me," Galahad said tiredly, but there was a faintness to his tone, a furtive sidelong glance. Galahad didn't believe his own words any more than Geraint did.

"Well, let's make sure of that," Geraint said, a little gruffly. He pulled Galahad forward, gently, carefully, and twisted his body. He settled Galahad on his back and rolled forward. It took a few tries, but eventually Galahad was settled against him.

Geraint used the straps of his backpack -- now facing forward and packed full with equipment from Galahad's own pack -- to pin Galahad in place. "No slipping off, now," Geraint said.

He grunted as he got to his feet, and he used the momentum to propel them forward.

"No cracks about my weight," Gahalad muttered.

"I don't know what you're on about. You're as light as a bloody feather," Geraint said through grit teeth.

Galahad huffed a laugh, but he was worryingly silent from that point onward. Geraint tried not to think about it. 

Two kilometres became one and a half and dwindled down to one. They were a few metres away from the last of the cover when Sod's Law struck and Geraint could hear voices carrying toward them.

Voices, and the thrashing of bodies no longer caring if anyone knew they were there.

The noise was coming up from behind them. Geraint didn't turn around to estimate the distance. He reached deep, _deep_ down and found a few last reserves of strength.

He pushed onward, praying to _fuck_ that the chopper that Arthur promised would show up early and give him the cover that he'd asked for. 

It was both hot and cold once he breached the last of the solid cover between him and the enemy. There was nothing but flat hardpan between him and the mythical green zone. Easy to run.

He ran.

It felt like he was going at a turtle's pace and that the rabbit was catching up behind him. Galahad slumped even more and threatened to slip out of Geraint's grasp. Geraint hopped in mid-stride and redistributed the weight on his back with desperation.

He heard the crack of a gunshot.

He also heard the chopper.

He kept going.

Gunfire was drowned out by the chopper blades and the blast of low-yield air-to-ground missile that exploded a good half kilometre behind them, close enough that it rattled Geraint's eardrums but far enough that the shockwave didn't send him bowling down to his knees. Geraint bowed a little as he approached the chopper that landed in front of him, and when he caught his breath, he'd bloody well _kiss_ the pilot, because he didn't have the energy to change course.

Hands grabbed him, hauling Galahad from his back and laying him flat on the chopper deck. The gunner took his position behind the rack gun and fired off a few quick bursts. Someone shoved Geraint onto a seat out of the line of fire, and two men started working on Galahad.

It felt like he hadn't so much as blinked before the scene before him changed. Bedivere was reloading the rack gun in case they needed to descend. Galahad's trouser leg had been cut wide open and the camouflage scarves replaced with blindingly white gauze with a spot of red in the middle. Lance was squeezing two IV bags -- blood and saline -- to get it into Galahad as quickly as possible.

A third man -- Pellinor, Geraint realized, feeling dizzy all of a sudden -- shoved an energy bar and a headpiece into his hands. Geraint put the earphones on and tapped it to activate his comms.

"How is he?"

Lance flashed a white smile and gave him a thumbs-up. Geraint searched Lance's expression for the faintest sign that he was worried, but couldn't find one.

That meant Galahad would be all right.

He heaved a sigh of relief and shifted out of the way when Pellinor moved to replace one of the saline bags. 

Geraint tore the wrapping of the energy bar open and bit down.

 

* * *

 

A hand clamped down hard on Geraint's shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his chair, but it was a near thing. Fortunately, Arthur was too focused on Galahad to notice that Geraint had gone for his gun, too.

Geraint relaxed with an annoyed huff of breath to cover up how startled he'd been, and leaned back while subtly shifting his hand from the butt of his gun to the armrest of his chair. The chair was old and worn, held in places with silvery duct tape, and it betrayed Geraint's attempts at stealth by creaking louder than his grandmother's arthritic bones.

"All right?" Arthur asked. His voice was low -- nearly too soft to be heard -- out of consideration for the other patients of the MASH unit.

Geraint didn't trust his voice. He nodded instead.

"You should get some rack time," Arthur said. It was phrased as a suggestion, but Geraint heard the order in Arthur's tone. Geraint could argue that he was good for a few more hours, at least until Galahad woke up from the anaesthetics from the surgery, but he couldn't even convince himself that he wasn't tired. Time was, Arthur would never have snuck up on him like this. Maybe he could've gotten within five feet before something would've given him away, but no one had ever gone one better on Geraint before.

Galahad had, once. A long time ago. Back when they were kids and Galahad snuck through Geraint's bedroom window because he had nowhere else to go and slept on the floor next to the bed. Geraint still remembered the heart attack he'd had when he twisted out of bed and found Galahad underfoot.

Stepped on him anyway, just because.

"Just a couple of hours," Geraint said, mostly to himself. 

Arthur nodded curtly, as if he knew that, and when they switched places, Geraint saw that there were dark circles under Arthur's eyes. He wouldn't be surprised if Arthur had been in the recovery tent all along, lingering just outside, waiting to relieve Geraint the instant that Geraint started to drop off.

Geraint smiled to himself, though the smile was weak and watery. Galahad might have had a lonely, hard childhood despite Geraint's attempts to make it better when they were growing up, but he would never be lonely again, not as long as he was a member of Excalibur.

"A few hours," Geraint repeated. 

"And have a shower," Arthur said, shooting him a sidelong look. "We'll all thank you if you clean up."

"You love my manly musk, admit it," Geraint retorted, but his heart wasn't in it. He picked up his dusty gear and left with one more backward glance over his shoulder, because, damn it, he'd promised Galahad if he ever went down, Geraint's would be the first face he saw when he woke up.

_"Well, that's incentive not to wake up, that's for sure," Galahad said with a laugh and a grin, but Geraint saw the way his eyes went glassy with tears and how his chin ducked down. Galahad never learned how to say_ thank you _properly, but he didn't need to say it, not with Geraint._

Never with Geraint.

"Hey," he called, getting Arthur's attention. "He so much as stirs, you come and get me, yeah?"

"His baby toe twitches, I'll make sure you're the first to know."


End file.
